Clara's Prince
by S'revan
Summary: [The Nutcracker Ballet] - As great a magician as Herr Drusselmeyer is, a dream is a bit beyond his capabilities. So how does Clara get her dream?
1. Prologue

Disclaimers: I could never hope to live up to Tchaikovsky. I have no idea whether _The Nutcracker_ is copywrited or a part of the public domain. Needless to say, I don't own it, or I would be the famous person, and not just 'Petey' -- Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky. Also, I wouldn't be posting this here, but someplace that doesn't have anything to do with fanficiton. Really, for a collective like this, I don't see the point of these standard disclaimers. Let's just say that they apply and leave it at that. 

Of course, if you try to steal anything from me, I'll sic my current muse and her boyfriend on you. They're really nasty assassins, too. Anyway:

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Clara's Prince - Prologue

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The prince looked up tiredly at yet another man who had come in possession of him. "What can I do to serve you?"

The older gentleman seemed amused. "Are the demands we poor mortals make on you so tiring?"

"They are. You want me to conquer something, someone, I expect?"

"No."

The prince blinked.

"This is an age of peace, and I have no wish to rule more than I do already. My family and my magic are enough for me."

The prince looked suspicious. And what might your name be?"

"Drusselmeyer."

The younger man sighed. I was afraid of that."

"Oh?"

"It's a story I'd rather not tell."

"As you will. I have a simple enough request."

"What is that?" Again, the prince was suspicious.

"My niece and god-daughter, Clara. I want to give her a present for Christmas unlike any other possible – even with my tricks. I want to give her a dream. And I want you to be its star."

"What did you have in mind?"

Herr Drusselmeyer told him.

"I can do that," the prince said, sighing again.

Drusselmeyer held up a finger. "A moment! My visible present to Clara is the nutcracker that contains you, mind. She shall never know its secret, and should her dream be real enough, it may enable you to find your freedom. This is my payment for a night's work."

"It is far more than that. You know you need ask nothing of me in return. Besides, why free me? If you know of me, surely you know also my story."

"I do. But no one, regardless of any differences from so-called 'normal' people, should be anything but free. As for any crimes you may or may not have committed, surely several dozen lifetimes is penance enough."

The prince bowed to the magician. "I thank you," he said solemnly, and meant it.


	2. Match Up to You

Again with the disclaimer stuff. And I'll warn you right now: I have no idea where to go from here, so either send me ideas or be patient and wait for me to come up with something. 

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Clara's Prince - Match Up to You

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"You know," Clara, now in her twenties, said. "I still can't find anyone to match up to you."

The prince sighed despondently. 

"And I still haven't figured out why I keep dreaming of you, either. The first was a present from my uncle. I know that. But why do you keep pestering me?"

The prince looked offended. "It's not my choice, you know," he said. "When you dream of me, I have to fill the image of me that your unconcious creates. I don't particularly like it."

"And that's why I know that the first dream wasn't real. You were like a fairy-tale prince then, and almost all you do now is complain."

"I merely match what you do," he huffed. "You complain, so I complain."

She sighed.

He sighed. 

She rolled her eyes. So did he. She stuck her tongue out at him and he returned the gesture. 

Clara burst out laughing. Her prince stared in amazement. "Why are you laughing, of all things?" he asked. 

"Just look at us," she said, still laughing. "We're absolutely rediculous. A couple of idiots. And me especially," she continued, struck with an idea.

"Because in all these years I never thought to ask your name."

"I have no name other than what you will give me."

She looked at him with pity. "Have you never had a name of your own, then? One that belongs to you and you consider your own, not a garment donned by a casual master?"

"No."

Her eyes narrowed. "Really?"

He looked at her for a long moment before sighing. "No. I know I had a name of my own at one point, but I can remember nothing before I was in the Nutcracker."

"Would you like a name? Not one that I gave you," she said hurriedly, as the possible interpretation struck her, "but one you gave yourself."

"I cannot be happy with any other than the one originally given me, and since I can't remember that one"

"Well." Clara cleared her throat. Aren't you depressing."

"I am," he agreed.

"I just hope your real name isn't something like Seth or Reuben or Jareth."

"Why?"

"Because, as amusing as _Cold Comfort Farm_ and _the Labyrinth_ are, you don't fit any of those characters."

"Gee, thanks," he muttered. 

"Well, I mean," she explained. "You're not oversexed in the least."

He chuckled. "No, I'm not. It's kind of hard for wood to be anything."

"But you're not made of wood. Just your body."

He shrugged. "In things like that, it comes to much the same thing."

Clara abruptly changed the subject. "Christmas is coming up again soon."

"I know."

"What do you want for Christmas?"

He gave her a look that said that he wasn't capable of getting anything in the first place, and that if he was, she should know what he wanted in the second. 

"Right, right," she agreed. "Stupid question." She seemed sad. 

"What's wrong?"

"I can't find anyone to match up to you," she repeated. "And all I ever really wanted out of life was someone to love and to love me, and a family."

"You don't have to love anyone to have a family," her prince pointed out.

"I don't have to, that's true. But I want to. I want to love so much."

He stood. "I'll see what I can do."

"Don't," she said sharply before he could do anything. "I told you long ago: you will be as free as I can make you, and I will take nothing from you that is not freely given."

"How do you know it isn't?" he asked, his face oddly neutral.

"Because when you start saying things like, 'I'll see what I can do,' you act just like you did just after the first dream – all business-like, calling me master, and such. You are not a glorified servant!"

"But I am." Nonetheless, the prince sat again. "I am a prince – I think – condemned to the life of a slave, bound to fulfill my owner's wishes and wants."

"Well, I wish I could do something to fulfill _your_ wishes," she said crossly.

"You can."

"Huh?"

"Having wished it, you can." He drew nearer to her. "Clara, beautiful Clara You may have wished almost the exact right wish."

She blinked, but he didn't notice. "Um"

"Call me Alec. For now, at least."

"Alec?"

"Just like that." His eyes were shining. He surprised her with a hug before jumping to his feet and pacing around, thinking alound under his breath and looking just like a little boy waiting for his friends to arrive so that he could open his presents. Clara watched him in amusement before the the scene began to blur and she heard the distant ringing of her alarm clock in her ears. 

"Alec."

"Yes, Clara?" His entire demeanor was so different now. There were real emotions – positive emotions – in his eyes and manner. She couldn't help but wish, once again, to find someone like this to make a life with. 

"I have to go now. I'll see you"

"Yes." He smiled, and hugged her again, before fading as their surroundings had done. "Enjoy your day, _beautiful one_

Clara turned over in bed and hit the alarm off. _Dammit_, she thought, still half asleep, _I wish my days were more like my dreams_.


End file.
